


so it goes

by spacelabrathor



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Established Relationship, F/M, Period Sex, no really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 21:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16312742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacelabrathor/pseuds/spacelabrathor
Summary: The God of Fertility has a thing for your cycle.





	so it goes

Thor always senses it before you do. You keep a vague calculation of your cycle on an app on your phone when you remember to, but the more accurate calendar is him. When he starts to root around you with his nose, smelling at your hair, behind your ear, pressing up behind you as you make him a cup of coffee on a Saturday morning, you know it’s just a day or two away.

He becomes drunk with it, it seems. The way you smell before it begins. The way your breasts swell and peak right on the cusp of it, all achey and sore in his hands. The rush of hormones that floods your bloodstream that smells, to him, like springtime and freshly turned soil and new birth.  

It had stunned you, the first time. Worried you to see him all grow heavy-lidded and flush-cheeked as you leaned against your apartment doorway and explained that he could stay the night but you couldn’t really do anything because...you know. That time of the month. 

You’d asked him what was wrong, reaching out to touch him, and he’d tugged you against him with a rough hand. Gathering your body against his and nosing at your temple with parted lips. You’d trembled against him in your apartment hallway as his hand had drifted down, soothing over the curve of your ass, feeling at you through the open leg holes of your loose cotton shorts.

You’d gasped, jolting in his arms at the scandal of it, but his fingers had found you there, pressing against the heat of your sex around your panties.

When his fingers came up tinged red in the low, incandescent light, he’d groaned like a wounded animal. He’d whispered a desperate plea into your neck, your shoulder. Begged you to let him, right there in the hallway.

You ended up riding his hand right there, pressed against the frame of your open door, panting his name and clutching at his shoulders as his fingers curled into you, delving into your heat, slicking rhythmically against the mess there. You came once, stupid fast against the press of his hand, hormones racing right under the surface of your skin, and you barely managed to kick the door shut behind you before he hauled you into the apartment with a feral growl, face all tensed up with heat and arousal.

He’d taken you on the living room floor, the rug bunching up under his knees as he pulled your shorts and panties off and pushed your thighs back and apart. Not even able to make it to the bedroom. Whispering your name again and again, eyes gone hazy as he fisted himself, rubbed the head of his cock against the bloody mess of your sex. Waiting for you to nod desperately, on a soft cry of his name before he stuttered his hips and buried himself in your heat.

It was the fertility thing, he’d explained later with you tucked up under his arm. Voice soft and apologetic, his hand trailing low on your belly, warm and calloused, gently heating the tense muscle there. You’d kissed him then, soft and slow. Promised him it was okay. Whispered shyly into the skin of his neck that you’d liked it. 

And when the muscles in your belly started to twinge an hour later, making your face twist up in a grimace, he’d blinked slowly at you, all heady and drunk as his hand slid down your tummy and between your legs. Felt against the fresh wave of slick and wet there. Brought you off with the steady, loving press of his fingers, panting into your ear as he rolled his hips desperately against the mattress.

After that first time, it became oddly routine. The plastic implant in your arm made your cycles less frequent, only every other month or so, but did a number your ability to predict when it would arrive. Turns out, Thor’s senses were more accurate than any calendar or biological clock.

He’d tell you, when it was time.

 

 

You think you have another few days before it hits when you wake for work on a quiet Friday morning. Early, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, covered by heavy, dark clouds. The sound of rain on the window rouses you slowly, languid in the soft warm of the sheets.

It’s not the rain that woke you, you realize on a quiet sigh, as Thor curls himself around you, sleepy and slow. Smelling at your hair, palming gently at your breasts through your sleep shirt. Rolling his hips softly against yours, already hard in his sweatpants.

You whisper his name and tilt your hips back to meet his, blinking sleep away as arousal laps at you like a wave on a shoreline. His hand finds your sex, already soft and sweet against his fingertips in the early morning, and he moans a quiet, broken sound into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Already feeling the pull of it even though it’s not yet arrived.

He pushes into you with a syrupy roll of his hips, groaning in relief at the tight, hot press of you. His hand wraps gently around your throat, tilting your head back as he murmurs praise into the skin of your neck.

You can’t speak, only able to whimper and sigh, delirious as he fills you again and again, cock pulsing and leaking as he roots himself to your core. Sending honeyed jolts of pleasure through your veins with every snug of his hips against yours that make your eyes roll back in your head.

The rain stops and he sucks hard on the point of your pulse, bursting blood vessels under the skin beneath his teeth and the suction of his tongue.

 

 

You go to work with his spend buried deep, feeling warm and satiated, but as always, he predicted it nearly to the moment.

As the day wears on, your belly grows achy and sore. By mid-day, you feel sick with it, cramps starting up in earnest. Making you lean against your desk and breathe through it on more than one occasion.

The drive home is torturous, slow through honking traffic. You nearly trip over yourself on your apartment stairs, body already starting to shut down in protest and fatigue, but you know. You know he’s there, waiting for you, and it draws in you like a ocean current.

You barely make it in the door, kicking off your shoes and fumbling to turn the deadbolt when he comes around the corner from the kitchen and stops in his tracks. He’s stupid gorgeous in the dim, overcast sunlight, dressed only in sweatpants that are slung low on his hips. Bare chested and broad and strong. His mouth drops open at the sight of you, his cheeks turning ruddy, and you go to him, stumbling.

You collide and he takes you down easily, turning you in his arms and protecting the back of your skull with his palm as he lays you down on the cool hardwood of the hallway floor. You would complain, ask for the soft comfort of your bed, but he’s tugging off your work pants and groaning, scrubbing his face and the scratch of his beard against the elastic of your panties, the soft skin of your stomach. 

Your breath leaves you all at once, getting all tangled up in your chest as he shoulders his way between your thighs, huffing, eyes distant and drugged as he tugs off your panties and discards them over his shoulder. Your fingers tangle in his hair and he groans lowly against your thigh before he noses into the soft of the curls between your legs and opens his mouth against your sex.

Your voice breaks on his name as he tugs you close, your thighs falling over his shoulders as he buries his nose in your cunt and laps at you with the flat of his tongue. Soothing against you as you start to tremble, his hands gentle as they frame your sex, hold you still where he wants you. Letting you grind down against the press of his lips and the velvet heat of his tongue.

He teases his tongue into you with a moan, nosing gently against your clit, smearing blood over his cheeks and looking up at you with eyes that are heavy lidded and fever hot. He’s acting on instinct now, hardly even with you anymore as he wraps his lips gently around your clit and starts to suck in feather light pulses that light pleasure in your core like a struck match.

“ _Tho-or_ ,” you breathe, fingers tightening against his scalp, your hips starting to roll against his face, and he knows he has you.

He nurses at you with the softest flutter of his tongue, and every little pulse drags you closer to the edge, one stuttering inch at a time. He can smell that you’re close and his eyes squeeze painfully shut between your thighs as you hips jerk and jolt in his hands. 

Your orgasm starts at your core, at the soft suction of his lips, and breaks over you like a wave, shocking the breath from your lungs and racing to your fingertips. Making you pin the back of your head against the floor as your back arches in a tight bow at the pull pull pull of it in your veins.

You’re gasping at the ceiling, still riding it, fingers trembling loose from his hair when he presses a messy red kiss to your thigh. You’re trembling full bodied now, shaking in his arms like you’ve been dunked in frigid water. You’re dimly aware of him moving between your thighs, of him tugging down his sweatpants and freeing his cock. Of the stain smeared across his lips and cheek that makes him look like a wild animal after a hard hunt, eyes pitched dark with lust.

You keen at the blunt snag of his cock at your entrance, and your head thumps uselessly to the floor when he breaches you, gone completely senseless at the feel of the tight, sure press as he makes his claim of you. The god of fertility, splitting you open. Making room in you with every plunge of his cock, desperate and leaking to spill his seed deep in your womb where it belongs.

His hands close around your thighs, drawing them apart, sinking him deeper still, and he gives himself away to it. Lets low growls fall from his lips as he ruts against you like an animal in heat, cock swelling and leaking into the tight, warm clutch of your cunt. Shoving you against the slip of the wood floor, making it creak and groan under the force of his thrusts.

A desperate sound falls from his lips and you know he’s close, already. That he’s chasing it, that sweet relief he so desperately seeks. You know that he’s been here all day, pacing the apartment, trying to find anything to do to take his mind off of you. Of the way you smelled. You know he probably buried his face into the sheets on your bed where you’d come that morning and pulled himself off, fucking his fist and dreaming of fucking your cunt. You know that he’s waited so long for this.

He pins you down harder still, hips rough against yours as he grits his teeth and vices his hands around your hips, burying himself to the hilt as he finds his release. You can feel the jump and spit of his cock as he fills you and it makes you moan his name, blinking hazily up at him as his hips give their last stuttering jerks. 

You focus on breathing, your chest heaving up and down, and his hands gentle on you regretfully, soothing the skin that’s already bruising with soft, apologetic fingertips.

You watch his face as he comes back to himself, blinking back into consciousness as he gazes down at you, hips jerking against you weakly one more time when you pulse around him, feeling him go soft and silky still buried in you.

He always looks at you like love, after, face all naked emotion as he gathers you up in your arms, knowing your trembling legs can’t hold you, and carries you to the bathroom.

His arm around your waist keeps you upright through the warm shower, his body a comforting pillar that you cling to as he cleans you with a soft cloth. Touching you all over with gentle hands, kissing your cheek and jaw and neck. Watching with you as pink water pools in the shower floor and swirls down the drain.

He’ll eat you out again before the night’s over and likely mount you again as well. Unable to stop himself when he feels the painful pulse of your cramps under his fingertips. Needing to care for you. To make you feel comforted and warm and safe.

For now, he holds you close as he dries you with a plush towel, pressing kisses to your cheekbones in the steamy bathroom. Murmuring sweet nothings into the skin behind your ear and letting you sway fully against him, taking on your weight like you’re no heavier than air. Holding you close and trading soft kisses with steam warmed lips until you nearly fall asleep, cheek resting against the warm, smooth skin of his chest. Comforted by the warmth of his arms and the steady drumbeat of his heart.


End file.
